


What's Buried Beneath

by Decaykid



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Drug Dealing, Explicit Language, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentally Ill Character, Pre-Canon, Suicide Attempt, neurodivergent character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7835191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decaykid/pseuds/Decaykid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate was working even before a chance encounter in a Blackwell bathroom...</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Buried Beneath

The moon hangs low in the summer night sky. Though its been hours since the sun has gone down, its warmth still hangs heavy in the air, thick and suffocating like a wet blanket. The summer heat has all the night time critters and creepy crawlers hidden away, seeking cooler temps elsewhere. The absence of nightlife has left the forest down by the bay encompassed in silence, save for the lone broken sobs of a haunted soul.

Tucked away in the dump lies the heir to the Prescott legacy, and Arcadia Bay itself.

Nathan Prescott is curled in on himself and he's succumbed to his sorrow as sobs rack through his body. He lays there crying, uncaring of the tear stained dirt smearing across the side of his face and hair, and expensive clothing, uncaring of the surrounding heaps of junk left hollowed and abandoned.

He hasn't slept in days. He's been unable to think, to focus. His mind is running ragged, wearing him down, destroying him from the inside out.

_'You're a monster.'  
_ _'You deserve to die.'_  
'It should have been you.'

It's the guilt and the shame. It keeps him up at night, whispers in his ear, makes him scream then closes its hands around his throat.

And he's tired.  
So tired.  
And so, so sorry.

So he cries. And he sobs. And he screams. And he hopes his tears soak the ground, hopes the drip all the way down to _her_.

To the girl that's buried just beneath where he lays.

And he hopes all his sorrow and shame and regret will somehow bring her back to life.

It hasn't happened yet.

This is the third time he's come to see her, Rachel Amber, since The Incident. he doesn't know why he does it. It changes nothing. It doesn't bring her back, or take the pain away. It just leaves him feeling hollow and empty, save for his burden of guilt.

he just can't do it anymore.

He sniffs hard, though the action is futile, and he tries to scrub away the tears with a dirty palm. When that doesn't work, he tries to blink them away, just enough to see through his blurry vision to reach for and grab the pistol laying beside him.

A gift, from Mr. Jefferson.

_'Keep yourself safe.'_

He's not exactly violating the rule, he thinks, as he cocks it. He's using it to keep himself safe _from_ himself.

He needs to be stopped.

The metal feels warm as his hand in the humid warmth of the night and he's suddenly aware of the thin sheen of sweat on his clammy palms. He tightens his grip on the weapon and slowly raises it. A strange, quiet resolve comes over Nathan once he feels the barrel of the gun pressed to his temple, and it's the closest thing he's ever felt to peace, that he can recall.

"The fuck's goin' on- ah _fuck_."

"Get the fuck away from me!" Nathan threatens, suddenly turning his gun on the stranger.a

Frank Bowers holds his hands up and takes an eager step back. This isn't what he expected to find when he decided to come investigate, and he knows his night just got weird.

"The fuck you think you're doin' kid? Are you stupid?"

"I said get back!"

Nathan places his other hand on the gun. As he gets to his feet, a flash of color on the man's wrist catches his eye.

"Rachel..." he breathes.

Frank's eyes narrow.

"The hell you say?"

"Th-that bracelet. It belonged to Rachel Amber..."

"What's your point?"

"You knew her."

"Everybody in this goddamn hellhole knew- knows her. So what?"

Silence befalls the pair as Nathan tries to clear his brain of the fog for names.

"You're Frank, aren't you? They guy she was seeing... before..."

"And who the fuck are you?"

"I... went to school with her."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Frank doesn't get a response. Instead, Nathan lowers the gun and wipes his face with the back of his sleeve. When his hand falls away, frank can see the gears of his mind working.

"I wanna do it."

frank looks around, lost.

"Do _what_ exactly?"

"Be the mule. That's what Rachel was, right? She'd smuggle drugs to your 'clients'?"

"I don't know what the fuck kinda gossip you heard at the playground _kid_ but I wouldn't invest in idle _rumors_ if I were you."

Nathan crosses his arms over his chest and cocks a hip, suddenly cocky and confident like he wasn't just holding a gun to his head moments ago and ready to pull the trigger.

It makes Frank uneasy.

"Look man, I'm not _Rachel Amber_. I'm not some anybody from Arcadia Bay, or just another Blackwell student."

Frank snorts, unimpressed.

"Oh yeah, Then just who the hell are ya then, big shot?"

"Nathan Prescott."

"No fuckin' way."

_No fuckin' way._ This is too good to be true, Frank thinks. Arcadia Bay's own deranged prince wants to deal at Blackwell for him?

It's too good to be true.

"How do I know this isn't some kinda investigation? That you don't go runnin' to daddy after I sell you somethin' and you bust me? Everyone knows he's tryna clean out the place for his lil' _Pan Estates_."

Nathan bristles at the mention of his father.

"I don't need that fucking bastard for anything. I'm doing this on my _own_."

"Ahh, I see. So this is some kinda rebellion thing? Wanna strike back at your dad by sellin' in the school that holds your family legacy. I dig it."

Frank chances a step forward.

"Wonder what a rich kid's gotta rebel against though?"

He watches as Nathan curls in on himself a fraction more for each step Frank takes towards him until his shoulders are bent  and his head is bowed.

"The fuck does it matter to you? Business is business, right?"

"That somethin' your daddy says?"

Frank finds himself starring down the barrel of the gun. Nathan's eyes are narrowed and dangerous, and for the first time his gaze meets Frank's, angry and unflinching.

"Stop bringing my father into this."

"Right. Fine. I got it. Nathan Prescott is his own man."

Nathan frowns, he can't tell if Frank is mocking him or not, but he drops the gun regardless.

"So, do we have a deal?"

Frank sighs heavily, runs a hand through his greasy hair.

As much as the kid unnerves him, he has a point: business is business, and the Prescotts know business.

"Alright, alright. But I'm startin' you off small. Once you prove yourself, you can deal the more potent stuff. Got it?"

Nathan's frown deepens. He feels like he's been having to prove himself to too many adults as of late. After some consideration, he decides that maybe this time it won't be so bad; a Prescott shouldn't have to prove themself to some lowlife drug dealer, but if he wants access to Frank's drugs for Vortex parties in the upcoming school year, he'll need to do this.

It's just a waiting game, like most things in life.

"Deal."

"Meet me at the beach tomorrow at seven. We'll talk more there."

Nathan nods.

Frank hesitates before leaving and gives Nathan a wary glance.

"Hey-uh... you gonna be okay?"

Nathan tucks his gun into the back of his pants underneath his jacket.

"I'll see you at seven."

As Frank watches him walk away, a warm breeze disturbs the stil night. As the leaves rustle in its wake, a shiver runs through Frank, and he gets the feeling that Rachel Amber is watching him, from where ever she is.

 


End file.
